


(all my friends were) glorious

by girlmarauders



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Group Sex, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Stanley Cup, Team, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders
Summary: "Nicky felt like someone had poured champagne directly into his bloodstream."The Washington Capitals celebrate.





	(all my friends were) glorious

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is poly in this universe I don't make the rules  
> I wrote this as a suggestion of the wildest way the team could celebrate but it turns out they are celebrating by [being non-stop drunk.](https://www.washingtonpost.com/amphtml/news/dc-sports-bog/wp/2018/06/09/tracking-the-caps-wheres-the-stanley-cup-headed-on-alex-ovechkins-wild-saturday-night/?noredirect=on)  
> I’ve also given them a much nicer plane  
> oh and no one uses condoms because ~~~~fantasy
> 
> (thanks to [frecklebomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/pseuds/frecklebomb) and [misprint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misprint/pseuds/misprint) for the great beta)

 

Nicky felt like someone had poured champagne directly into his bloodstream. Everyone had come onto the ice, and he'd kissed Liza, and held Hayley, him grinning and her shouting, before Liza had taken her and the baby to safety off the ice. He’d held the cup, Ovi helping him when his hand nearly crumbled under the weight, and said something into a microphone, dazed beyond being able to understand the questions. 

He tried to kiss Liza again, on the way off the ice, just high on happiness and wanting to kiss someone, and she'd wrinkled her nose and shoved him in the shoulder, holding the baby on her hip with her other arm.

“You smell disgusting,” she said, in Swedish, grinning at him, “and I have the babies tonight. Go celebrate with Alex.”

He made it into the locker room, and then was ambushed by the wall of noise and sweat and alcohol that was the celebration in full swing. Ovi shook him by the shoulders, and the hockey babies were shotgunning beers around the cup, everyone with a hand on it like they couldn't believe it was real. Nicky couldn't believe it was real, and Ovi kissed him over it, wet and filthy, sucking on his tongue while everyone else cheered. Then he had to kiss everyone, which was scratchy and exhilarating, each of them shouting at each other, like repeating it at top volume would made it more true. They had won the cup. They had won the cup. They had won the cup!

Everything happened in huge shifting flashes. They sang We Are The Champions, arms wrapped around each other, and jumped up and down, and someone lifted the cup to pour champagne down his throat and over his face and all down his jersey until they were all soaked and all, completely, totally drunk, on beer and champagne, and happiness and inexplicable still-surprising joy. His hand hurt but he couldn't feel it, and he knew everyone else was hurting but too drunk and happy to care. 

The cup made a round of everyone in the locker room, everyone drinking and then refilling it as fast as it was emptied, and more kissing, no one wanting to leave the cup or each other for longer than it took to drink. They were all disgusting, half undressed, Vrana still had one skate on, Ovi hadn't even taken his jersey off. Tom climbed onto Holtby’s lap, and they made out, the way they always did when Tom was too drunk to care about them seeing him be sweet, Holtby's hand on his face, guiding him into each kiss. Nicky wanted to climb into Ovi’s lap, but he knew it hurt his knees and Nicky was suffused with a fondness for every part of Ovi’s body, from his greying hair to his tricky knees, so all he did was collapse on the bench next to him, leaning over to kiss him, pulling him away from a shouted conversation in Russian with Kuzy. It was like a switch being flipped and 100% of Ovi’s ridiculous, over the top, wonderful attention turned on Nicky, on kissing him. Every sensation felt amazing right now, and the wet pressure of Ovi’s lips, the scratch of his beard, his hand at the back of Nicky’s neck, it all felt overwhelming and great. God, he really did want to crawl into his lap and not leave. They couldn’t really do that in the locker room. 

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to standing, but it was just DSP who wanted to shake him, kiss him messily on the mouth and then also messily on each cheek and the pass him on to someone else in the crowd of the team. Kuzya kissed him, and Oshie and even Brooks, who was flushed red all over and half undressed and grinning. He saw Andre and lunged for him, grabbing him and pulling him in for a kiss before they pulled apart and shouted at each other in Swedish. Every time he thought the adrenaline was ebbing, something would pull it back to the highest point and he would feel like he'd just scored, like Liza had just told him she was pregnant, like his first kiss with Ovi, like his draft day, all those feelings lapping over each other like they were stuck on a single, circular track.

He took another long drink of champagne, and then he and Andre helped each other out of their jerseys and chest protectors, both of them laughing, Christian shouting at them from the other side of the locker room. That inspired a happy, spirited multi-lingual argument, with the Americans bitching about no-one speaking English, and the Canadians shouting at them, and then Kuzya interrupting with a fake over-the-top Russian accent, swearing colourfully. Every one of them was fully literate in locker-room and understood him just fine, laughing and teasing each other, slowly chiding each other to change out of their layers. Brett was trying to get Vrana to take off his last skate but he kept getting distracted. Finally Brett just put a hand over his mouth and didn't let go until he started untying his laces.

Andre, who had drunk less than Nicky and still had the full use of both his hands, pulled a shirt over his head, helping him get the sleeve over his fucked-up wrist. Ovi had managed to get into board shorts and a shirt, and was bench-pressing the cup enthusiastically, kissing it every time he brought it close to his face. Everyone else was either in a state of basically acceptable dress or getting there. John and Dima were bullying the younger ones into clothes and out of their uniforms, and Vrana had his hand fisted in the front of Brett's shirt as they kissed, as if he'd fall down if he let go. Tom was standing, Holtby's hand down the back of his shorts, necking a bottle of champagne like it was water, and he passed it to DSP, who gulped it, and they were all still passing it around as they spilled out into the hallway of the stadium. Even a little drunk, they all managed to make it out the hall and into the bus, the cup always at the head of the group, like some strange silver beacon. 

The reprieve of the bus was short, but it was long enough for Nicky to catch his breath, and then have a long, delicious kiss with Ovi. He had to lean over the back of his seat, because Ovi had the cup next to him and was refusing to share it. He had no idea how they'd ever get it away from him. Maybe they'd be able to sneak it away while he slept. 

In the seats in front of him, Holtby had Tom in his lap again, Tom's ass flush up against Holtby's hips. Holtby thought he was being real subtle, because Andre was leaned over the seats to kiss Tom, but Nicky could see where Holtby's hand was in Tom's shorts, his arm was wrapped around his side and moving rhythmically. 

“Getting started without us?” Nicky said, turning to put his elbows over the back of the seat. Holtby just looked up and winked. Tom gasped and squirmed in Holtby’s lap, drunk and turned on and happy. Andre risked walking around on the bus to fall into Nicky’s seat, pressing his mouth to the join of his neck and jaw in open-mouthed kisses. Nicky grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer in the seat so they could kiss properly. They had to pull apart when Ovi leaned over the back of the seats and grabbed Nicky’s shoulder. 

“Burky, c’mon, give me Nicke,” he said, “give me Nicke.” 

Andre sighed longsufferingly, and let Nicky climb over him into the bus aisle. Ovi had handed the cup to Lars, who was kissing it and videoing himself drinking champagne. 

“Come here,” Ovi said, stretching both arms out to grab at him, and Nicky stumbled, feeling warm and happy and then even warmer as Ovi pulled him in. 

“Hey,” he said, nosing against his neck. “Ovi, we won the cup. We won the cup.”

Ovi shook him gently, and then kissed him enthusiastically, almost sweetly, one hand on the side of his face. He was grinning when they pulled apart. 

“Finally,” he said, “we finally did it!” 

Now Nicky really did need to climb into his lap, and he threw a leg over Ovi’s thighs to straddle him. Finally. Eleven years in Washington, each one of those years, happy in parts, but always ending painfully, and they had finally added up to this. He didn’t know if the waiting was worth it, but the waiting had added up to  _ something.  _ Maybe it was worth it to see Ovi this happy, and to be kissed like this, completely and joyously. 

Someone cheered, and they broke apart to someone emptying a bottle of champagne fizz over their heads, Lars holding the cup over their heads like mistletoe. Ovi spluttered through the champagne, and Kuzya was laughing, pointing at him and shouting in Russian, Nicky only catching a few words. Ovi’s arms were still wrapped around him, and he shouted at Lars in Swedish, who shouted back in his dumb Danish accent - they should be nicer, he scored the winning goal for them didn’t he? - so Nicky took the champagne from Kuzya and drank from the bottle before passing it to Ovi. His hair was wet with the champagne, and he pushed it off his forehead. Andre was standing in the aisle, grinning and trying to get DSP to make room next to him, and Tom and Holtby had stopped, or finished, and Tom was leaning on the back of the seats, watching him. 

“Oh, did we interrupt Papa?” Andre said, swaying with the bus. 

“Which one is papa?” Holtby asked, taking a beer passed to him over the seats. Andre shrugged. 

“I don’t know, both of them?” he said, finally falling into a seat. 

“They’re like an old married couple,” Tom said, not shouting to try and be heard, but Brooks still heard from across the aisle. 

“They’re not married yet!” he shouted, and Matt made a booing sound from behind him. “C’mon, Ovi, make him an honest man!”

Soon the whole team was shouting at them, some of them chanting “ask him! ask him!” over and over again, and Nicky looked down at Ovi, who raised his eyebrows. 

“We can do the vows over the cup?” he asked, and Nicky laughed. 

“I’ll marry you, you idiot,” he said, and Ovi kissed him, and the bus erupted in cheers around them. 

It was like everyone caught their second wind very quickly. Brooks, as the most able to pretend to be sober, was deputised to redirect the bus driver, and Beagle found a chapel that could fit them all. Nicky was oblivious to it all, too wrapped up in kissing Ovi, over and over, each kiss sending a coiling, heated pleasure deep into his gut. 

The bus stopped with a jolt and the team spilled out into the chapel parking lot, pushing the cup into Ovi’s arms, and Ovi made him help lift it with his one good hand. They carried it into the chapel together, and Ovi tried to kiss it while he held it between them, like an idiot. Nicky was charmed by it all, and overwhelmed by the kisses, and the chapel, and the cup. 

Ovi had to put the cup down to sign the marriage certificate, and to take the newly-bought rings from Andre. He’d chosen Stanley Cup silver rings, cheap but still hard metal, and they looked so small in Ovi’s big palm. 

“C’mon Nicke,” he said, grinning at him, his broken tooth showing. That smile came with the best things of Nicky’s life - his draft, his 500th point, their first win, the cup - and he grinned back. Eleven years together, this was nothing. 

Ovi picked up the cup to carry it to the front of the chapel, where Orlov and Kuzya were having a whispered argument. Nicky turned to look at Andre. 

“I guess you’re my best man,” he said, still a little shell-shocked. Andre grinned at him. God, he looked so young. Nicky had won the Stanley Cup with a bunch of children. 

“Hell yeah I am papa,” he said, and took the ring Ovi had left Nicky with. “C’mon lets get going, you’ve got a man waiting for you.” 

Ovi had planted the cup in the middle of the front of the chapel, and was breaking up Orlov and Kuzya’s fight. 

Nicky waited on the other side of the cup, and took a drink when someone offered it to him. The chapel was just the team, and one bored-looking guy in a suit, like he married drunk people carrying the Stanley Cup all the time. Not a hockey fan, then. 

“You should have a Russian best man,” Orlov said, and then paused. “And it shouldn’t be Kuzy.” 

Ovi threw his arm around Orlov’s shoulder. 

“Who said I want either of you idiots?” he said, and then pointed across the chapel. “Holts! Holtby! Come here!”

Holtby jogged over, Tom trailing in his wake.

“Holtby is my best man.” Ovi said, “You play with me ten years, be best goalie in the league, you best man at my next wedding, huh?” 

“What!” Kuzy squawked, “I play with you 8 years, I give you goals all the time, you make Holtby best man!” 

“C’mon Kuzy,” Tom had come over, “let them get married. You can be best man at my wedding.” 

Kuzy perked up at that, and let Tom pull him away, Orlov trailing afterwards. Tom was going to regret that when Kuzy reminded him in the morning. 

The officiant came forward, holding the marriage certificates. 

“Are you ready?” he said. 

Nicky tried to later, but he couldn’t remember the vows. He remembered Andre handing him the ring, and Ovi took the chain off his neck so Nicky could put the ring on it. He remembered both of them leaning over the cup to kiss, and the familiar scratchy feeling of Ovi’s beard, and the little jolt of pleasure when he sucked on his tongue. John was crying, and so were Beagle and Orlov, and then DSP cheered and the two of them and the cup were swept back up out of the chapel, and into the bus. Everyone kept saying ‘congratulations’ and then kissing him, or kissing Ovi, or kissing him and Ovi, and Nicky felt like he’d never been happier, like he was so full up with it, like it couldn’t end. 

 

***

 

Someone (Nicky highly suspected Oshie but couldn’t put the thoughts in any kind of order enough to be sure) had produced more liquor on the bus, and everything had the strange sort of fuzzy, stop-motion quality the world got when you reached the practical limits of drunken-ness. Oshie had to help him over the last step into the plane, and then he dropped into one of the bank of seats against the side of the plane, feeling boneless and exhausted.

“Looks like Nicky is flagging,” Oshie said, and Nicky shook his head against the material of the seats, his eyes closed.

“Just resting my eyes,” he said, and then had to open them when he felt hands on his shoulder. It was just Oshie, leaning down over him and then pressing their noses together so he was too close, unfocused and grinning.

“C'mon Backy, don't sleep now, we have to celebrate,” he said quietly, just between the two of them, and then turned slightly so their mouths met in a wet, sliding kiss. It was good, Oshie was a good kisser, and Nicky pressed up into it. Oshie’s hands were heavy on Nicky’s shoulders, and his thumb brushed against the side of Nicky’s neck softly, encouraging him into the kiss. Oshie hummed happily into the kiss, and settled over Nicky’s thighs, surrounding Nicky on all sides, his big thighs on the outside of Nicky’s legs. He put his hands up Oshie’s shirt and felt the shape of his abs, a little sticky with champagne and sweat, but still solid and warm. Everyone else was joining them on the plane, but Nicky has always liked focusing exclusively on one person, on one kiss, and was busy trying to suck on Oshie’s tongue. He tweaked one of Oshie’s big nipples, and smiled when Oshie gasped and ground his hips down. 

“Yeah,” Oshie said quietly, breaking the kiss so he could sit back and grind his hips down harder onto Nicky’s. It felt good, in a way that suffused through his whole body, and he gripped Oshie’s hips to hold him in place as he ground up. The plane took off that way, with the sudden feeling of being airborne hitting him as they ground against each other. 

Eventually, Nicky managed to wriggle his hand between them and inside Oshie’s shorts, gripping his dick, nice and big, not all the way hard yet but nearly there. He curled into his fingers into a tight o and let Oshie fuck the circle of them for a few minutes, both of them breathing heavily into a kiss. Nicky loved having sex drunk, the way everything felt more intense and present, the way he could let each of his feelings pour over him like water. Getting fucked in that kind of mood, when everything was good and uncontrollable, was the greatest feeling in the world, and now he could get fucked looking at the Stanley Cup. Across the aisle, on one of the sets of seats that faced the middle of the plane, Ovi was sprawled, the cup in his lap, letting everyone who filed past give the cup a pat and him a kiss. Nicky put his lips behind Oshie’s ear, nipping at the soft skin. 

“You should fuck me,” he said. Oshie ground down again.

“Fuck yeah,” he said. Nicky rubbed his thumb along the head of his cock, and felt the first drop of precum well up, and Oshie kissed him hard before leaning back, keeping one hand braced on the back of the seat.

The plane definitely looked like an all-night bender was in the middle of happening. Most everyone had taken finally being somewhere where only teammates could see them as an excuse to strip semi-naked, and were drinking or making out or half-way to sex, or all of the above. Lars had Andre in his lap, already stripped down to his shorts, and Michal and Vrana were more occupied with drinking than with making out, taking long pulls of champagne in between giggling kisses. 

“Grubi!” Oshie shouted down the plane, to where Grubi was giving Nathan the least subtle hickey ever. “Give us the lube!” 

Nicky sighed loudly and buried his face in Oshie's shoulder. Everyone has heard him, and he'd practically guaranteed they'd have an attentive audience. He didn't mind, but it would have been nice to get started discreetly.

Grubi sat up and fished between the seats for one of the bottles of lube they kept on the plane. DSP wolf-whistled as Grubi threw it and Oshie caught it one-handed, lifting his other hand from the chair to flip him off. 

Oshie helped him wriggle out of his shorts and shirt, and onto his hands and knees, so he could see everyone else, especially Ovi opening his arms and pulling DSP in to cuddle each other and the cup while they watched. Nicky blushed and ducked his head, his eye catching on the ring on his finger, which made him flush all over. His new husband was going to watch him get fucked. His new husband was going to watch him get fucked while holding the Stanley Cup. 

Oshie stretched him quickly, using two fingers and scissoring them so Nicky could feel the stretch, the way his hole parted around Oshie’s blunt fingers. It was a delicious, aggravating kind of arousal, good but not enough, and soon Nicky was pushing himself back, ignoring the pain in his knees and hand, trying to get more of Oshie’s fingers inside him. He looked up, needing something, needing more stimulation, and saw Ovi, his arm still wrapped around the thinnest part of the cup, holding its neck to him. He was jerking DSP off, his shorts pulled down just enough to free his cock so Ovi could wrap his hand around it, jerking him with quick, hard strokes. It looked so good, and then Oshie found his prostate, and he jerked, moaning loudly, not able to hold in the sound anymore. 

“Yeah, you ready?” Oshie asked, and Nicky pushed back as an answer, sinking onto Oshie’s fingers to the last knuckle. He rolled his head and groaned. It felt amazing. 

Slowly, Oshie pulled his hand back and Nicky shuddered at the obscene feeling of his hole releasing, and he shuddered again when he felt the blunt head of Oshie’s cock at his hole. Oshie pulled him back by his hips, slowly sinking onto his cock, until he was fully seated, almost in Oshie's lap. He felt full, overflowing with it, the pressure inescapable, and he turned his head to the side, pulling in huge breaths, trying to breathe through it.

Ovi and DSP were kissing, DSP’s hips moving with how close he was, and it was so hot, looking at that and feeling Oshie starting to thrust, his cock dragging inside Nicky, filling him up. He wanted to laugh, or moan, or something but he just grinned manically. He could see the cup, and Ovi, and all the rest of the team. It was good. He pushed himself up on his hands, feeling the twinge in his hand like it was far away, and pushed back on Oshie’s cock, meeting his thrusts with the slapping sound of his hips hitting Nicky’s ass.

Everyone was getting into full flow of celebrating now, which meant that everyone wanted to have an orgasm within reach of the Stanley Cup. Lars was lying on the plane carpet, Vrana blowing him enthusiastically, both of them barely undressed, Lars still with his shirt on. Nicky’s eyes fluttered closed as Oshie found the right angle to nail his prostate, and he moaned loudly, his arms shaking as he held himself up.

“Yeah?” Oshie said through his clenched jaw, his grip tightening on Nicky’s hip. “You close babe? Gonna come on my cock, let me come inside you?” 

Oshie dirty-talking was a sure sign he was close, and Nicky shoved himself onto the next thrust, desperate to get more of the sweet friction and fullness. He was hard and wanted to come, but couldn't if Oshie came now, if he didn't keep up the thrusts that filled him up just right, and pressed against his prostate. 

Oshie thrust forward hard once, burying himself deeply, and Nicky felt the warm rush of his orgasm, great and maddening all at once. He could feel Oshie bent in two, resting his forehead on Nicky’s back, petting at his sides, one of his hands still tacky with lube.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, Nicky didn't know whether for the lube, or for the way he pulled out slowly, or not having made Nicky come. God, Nicky was mad at him for all three of them, but Oshie kissed his shoulder and climbed off the seat, his legs wobbling until he slid down to sit next to Lars, who was post-orgasmically lolling around with a beer on the floor. Nicky rose up onto his knees and took a can of beer when it was offered up by Matt. 

“Is someone going to come over here and fuck me properly, or has the cup made you all lazy?” he said loudly. There were a few jeers at Oshie, who slowly flipped them all the bird, and went back to using Lars as a prop to stay sitting upright. Ovi grinned at them, but made no move to respond to Nicky. He clearly knew he'd get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it, and Nicky knew he spoiled him but he could never resist. Holtby, who was always his next best option for great, and properly attentive, sex, had Tom in his lap, and was completely occupied, his fingers sliding into Tom over and over again. 

From the back plane seats where he'd been entangled with Brett, Brooks pulled himself to his feet and drained his beer, dropping it onto the ground. He walked over, a little unsteady on his feet, only in his shorts, looking flushed all over, with beard burn starting up between his pecs. It looked like Brett had worked him over. 

“Get a D-man to do what a forward won't huh?” he said playfully, and then bent to kiss Nicky, licking his teeth and nipping at his lip. Nicky sighed into it. Thank god for Brooks, who knew what he was doing and wasn't going to leave him hanging like fucking TJ - it was hard to keep the annoyance up, when Nicky looked up and saw the cup. He loved every one of these impossible idiots, and he looked down at Oshie. He always got tired after sex, and he was fast asleep, his head pillowed on Lars’ thigh, snoring quietly. They all snored. They'd been hit in the face so many times in their life it would be a miracle if they didn't. 

Brooks kissed Nicky’s collarbone, and flicked one of his nipples, hard enough to make Nicky squirm away from it. He grinned at him, and shimmied out of his shorts quickly, pulling Nicky forward into his lap.

“C'mon yeah, you want it?” he said, kissing Nicky’s chest as he got situated. He nearly rolled his eyes. He was turned on and desperate and Brooks wasn't  _ blind _ of course he wanted it, what a stupid question. 

Brooks pushed into him in one smooth thrust upwards, and all his annoyed thoughts went flying out of his head as he scrabbled at Brooks’ shoulders.

“Oh god, Brooks, yeah,” he said loudly. His hole was still stretched from before, but it was so raw and intense to be filled again, for the only lube to be what was left inside him. “Oh god,” he said again, as Brooks circled his hips. It felt so good, and he was all the way hard again, leaking against his own stomach, wanting to come.

The angle they had didn't let Brooks fuck him hard but he didn't need that, he just wanted to be full and to be able to grind down, feeling the stretch at his rim. Brooks let him ride as he wanted for a little while, rubbing gently at his nipples, until Nicky was gasping and sweating. It didn't help that the whole plane smelled of sex now, and between the laughing and talking Nicky could also hear the unmistakable sound of fucking, and sex, and it was both super hot and super frustrating. 

Brooks just kind of laughed at him, which made a tiny part of Nicky’s brain want to  _ murder him _ , but then he got his feet braced on the floor and started working his dick into him with sharp, quick strokes and Nicky took all his terrible thoughts back. Brooks was great, Brooks was so good, he'd stored up all his goals for when they really needed them.

“Damn straight,” Brooks said with a grunt, which made Nicky realise he'd been saying all that out loud, and then he put his hand around Nicky’s dick and started to jerk him off, with a tight hard grip that mirrored his thrusts. Nicky’s thighs were shaking, but he could feel his orgasm just out of reach and he lifted himself up, letting gravity push Brooks’ dick deeper into him and groaning at the sensation. Brooks leaned forward and kissed his collarbone, neck, whatever he could reach and Nicky curled inwards, his shoulders rounding, as he finally came all over Brooks’ hand.

He could feel his hole fluttering, clenching tightly, as he came, and Brooks made a deep sound, like he'd been punched in the stomach, his dick twitched inside Nicky as he came. Nicky squirmed a little, because he was sensitive, and it felt good but he was too wrung out to be turned on by it. 

“Oh god, stop that, you're gonna kill me,” Brooks said, out of breath. He put his hands on Nicky’s hips to hold him still but didn't grip very tight.

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” he said, and Brooks rolled his eyes, and then closed them and winced as Nicky slowly lifted off his dick. 

Nicky flopped to the side, his arms and legs and ass all sore in the good, pleasant way that came from heavy use, and lay front down on the seats. Ovi had clearly graciously given up the cup for a few minutes and Dima was taking a selfie with it, Kuzya with his shirt off in the background.

Ovi was reclined on the other bank of seats across the plane, lying on his back, shirtless with one hand lying on his stomach. He looked good, tired but good, happy. Nicky crossed his arms in front of him and rested his chin on them, watching Ovi. He'd been watching him for over a decade now, because it was his job on the ice, watching everyone but especially Ovi, knowing where he was but also exactly where he was going to be, but he also loked because he liked it, because he'd fallen in love with Ovi when they had been basically children, because he was still in love with him. 

Ovi looked up, like he knew he was being watched, and grinned when he caught Nicky’s eye. He had always smiled like that, even when he had more teeth, and Nicky felt himself smiling back, entirely out of instinct. He raised his eyebrows, asking ‘come here’ without saying anything, in their own secret language, built on layers of fondness and affection and genuine friendship, years of knowing each other in their second, third language. Ovi rolled his eyes, saying ‘the things I do for you’ without speaking, and pulled himself to his feet with a groan. 

DSP made a comment about the Russian bear, but Ovi just flipped him off, and stumbled a little when he had to maneuver around the pile of people in between the seats, touching the cup as he passed it. Vrana was somehow still awake, god knew how, and was in the middle of getting what looked like a pretty good blowjob from Michal. Holtby claimed the empty seats as soon as Ovi vacated them, pulling Tom up with him.

Nicky pulled his legs up so Ovi could lay half on top of him, half on the seats, their noses rubbing together. 

“Hey Nicke,” he said quietly, and Nicky felt the rumble of his chest as he spoke through his own sternum. He rubbed his nose against Ovi's, and then rubbed his cheeks against the scratch of Ovi's beard. He was maybe still a little punch drunk from the orgasm, but the sensations were all nice, and Ovi was warm against his chest. 

Ovi's hands stroked his back gently, and then slowly dipped down to his ass, and then to press at his hole. This was why Ovi had lazed around earlier - he loved this, Nicky after he'd been fucked, sweet and relaxed and loose. Ovi pressed just the tip of his finger into Nicky and he gasped, pushing his face into the join of Ovi's shoulder and neck. He was over-sensitive, and the wet sound of Ovi's fingers made a little private feeling of pleasure coil in his stomach.The seats weren't wide, and both of them were too big, but Nicky spread his legs as best he could, and Ovi slid a second finger into him, just playing with his rim, rubbing come into him. It was addictively good, and Nicky moaned when he pressed deeper, his hole fluttering around Ovi's fingers. 

“You want another?” He said breathily, his lips against Nicky’s temple, and Nicky shook his head.

“Not your fingers, just fuck me please, c'mon I'm ready,” he said, gasping at the end when Ovi curled his fingers inside him. Ovi scissored his fingers, and the stretch burned a little but mostly felt good and  _ pointless  _ since Ovi knew he'd been fucked already, that he was ready to go  _ now. _ He worked his hips a little more, getting more of Ovi's fingers inside him, trying to send a message.

“Always impatient,” Ovi said, with a smile, and Nicky looked up to smile at him.

“I waited 11 years, didn't I?” he said, and that made Ovi actually laugh and pull his fingers out quickly, shimmying out of his shorts.

“Oh okay,” he said teasingly. “I give it to you now.”

“Finally,” Nicky said, but spread his legs so that Ovi could hook one over his shoulder and work his dick into Nicky without anymore teasing. He was only half-hard but the aching pressure of Ovi’s cock, big and long and fat, enough to be a stretch even after being fucked twice, was so much, so much of everything all at once, and Nicky used his free hand to stroke his own dick, getting harder with every second. When he was fully seated, Ovi turned his head and kissed Nicky’s ankle gently, and Nicky felt tears prick up suddenly, at how tender and gentle it was, how good it felt to be fucked again, how sore he was and how happy he was. He wiped at his eyes quickly. God, the last thing he wanted to do was cry while being fucked by Alex. He’d never hear the end of it. 

“Oh Nicke,” Ovi said, which meant he’d seen, and thrust into him, grunting when he bottomed out. Nicky had to grab the side of the seats to stay in one place, and then, when Ovi thrust again, hard and fast, he had to turn his head to the side against the mixed pain and pleasure, his mouth falling open. 

On the other bank of seats, Tom was sinking down onto Holtby's cock, red in the face, his mouth slack and thighs working. Nicky saw it like he was in a dream, through the nearly overwhelming haze of alcohol and sex. He could see the cup.

“Fuck,” he said, and then kept saying it, because Ovi had found the angle that grazed his prostate with every thrust, and he could feel himself clenching down every time, feel Ovi push through it and shudder.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the air was being pushed out of him with every thrust, his body sliding along the fake leather material of the seats. Every nerve in his body was lit up with it, and then Ovi thrusts timed up with his own hand on his cock and he was gone, gone, curling upwards, the orgasm almost painful as it rolled through him.

Ovi grunted, deep in his chest, the same sound he made when he was really pushing himself, and pushed in one last time, when Nicky was tightest, and came as well. Nicky felt the warm rush of come inside him and felt his whole body relax, every muscle letting go. Ovi pulled out slowly, and unbent Nicky’s leg gently, so he could flop down, half on top of him, which wasn't gentle at all. Nicky made a sound of complaint, too fucked out to do anything else, but Ovi just petted his face clumsily, still breathing hard.

“Don't be big baby,” he said fondly, but Nicky didn't care. Getting fucked was exhausting. He heard someone open another bottle of champagne, and very distantly Andre saying he didn't want to get a tattoo, those things were for forever. He thought he should tell Andre not to get a tattoo, but he was already closing his eyes.

Later, he half-woke up to struggle into his shorts and shirt, and then was bundled into the back of a taxi, dozing with his head pillowed on Ovi’s huge shoulder, watching the sleep-blurred lights of D.C. pass by.

 

***

 

Nicky woke up in Ovi’s bed, in Ovi's house, too warm with Ovi breathing on the back of his neck, snoring loudly. His mouth was dry, his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth, and his stomach was rumbling. Carefully, he extricated himself from Ovi’s arms and stumbled to the hall. He could smell food cooking, and he followed it to the kitchen. Nastya had her back to him, cooking something on the stove, and she turned when he pushed the door open. 

“Hey Nicke,” she said, coming over to kiss his cheek. “I made eggs. There’s coffee.” She waved at the breakfast bar, and he immediately sank into one of the seats, greedily pouring a coffee. 

“You’re a goddess,” he said, and took out his phone. Nastya put a plate of eggs in front of him, and started eating her own without making conversation. She’d been around hockey players for years now, and knew better than to interrupt food.

**did everyone get home okay?** he texted to the group chat, and then had a second thought.  **also who has the cup**

Almost immediately a picture popped up of Oshie’s youngest being held half-in, half-out of the cup. It was Lauren holding her up, and she looked happy, pink-cheeked and grinning. Nicky smiled at it and showed Nastya. A few minutes later Tom sent a filthy snap to the snapchat group, of Holtby kissing Vrana, all three of them clearly still in bed. Nicky didn't show that to Nastya, and instead texted the group.  **did you guys take vrana’s innocence?**

**pretty sure already did that papa** Burky texted back, and Kuzy followed it up with a string of sex related emojis, heavy on the peaches. Nicky shifted in place, feeling the ache of all his muscles and the particular ache in his ass. It felt good. He had a alcohol-soft memory of Vrana grinning, and someone, Lars maybe, holding onto Vrana as they kissed, sometime in the swirl of people and sex on the plane. He responded with an eyeroll emoji in the chat.

There was a sound in the hallway, and then Ovi appeared in the doorway, leaning on the door frame, looking tired and sex-rumpled but still good. Nicky always thought he looked good.

“Where's the cup?” he said, still smiling, like that was his first thought. Nicky held up his phone with the picture from Oshie, and Ovi came over to squint at it.

“Oshie has it,” Nicky said, and Ovi kissed his forehead, looking over at Nastya. 

“Two beautiful lovers and I still wake up alone,” he said, and pouted. Nastya gestured with her fork at him, still picking at her eggs. 

“You both snore,” she said. “And the baby will start keeping us awake soon. I'm storing up the sleep.” 

She had Ovi wrapped around her little finger and the mention of the baby forestalled any pouting, Ovi going to her to put his hands on her belly, even though she wasn’t showing at all yet, and talking quietly in Russian to her stomach. Nastya made eye contact with him over Ovi’s head, and the both smiled fondly. They had never been lovers, but loving Alex was a two full time people kind of job. 

He flicked through the photos saved in his camera roll. There were skewed photos of them on the plane, Ovi asleep with his arms around the cup, everyone grinning, Andre taking stupid selfies when he’d gotten hold of his phone. It was nothing he wasn’t expecting from a long night, and he flicked further, smiling at how happy they were and the flashes of memory he had. He stopped. There was one of him and Ovi, someone else had taken the photo, and they were at the front of a chapel, Ovi holding his hand in front of him, Andre very clearly in tears behind Nicky. He was still wearing his shorts from the night before, and he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the ring, and then pulling it out onto his palm. It wasn’t as cheap as he was expecting. He didn’t remember how they’d gotten them. It was silver, like the cup, he thought. 

When he looked up, Ovi had his arm around Nastya, but he was looking at Nicky. 

“Nicke,” he said softly, and unravelled himself from Nastya to cover the space between them in three big steps, covering Nicky’s hand in his two huge ones. “Nicke,” he said again, as if he didn’t know what to say. Nicky turned his hand over to drop the ring into Ovi’s hand. 

“Sasha-” he said, and he only ever called Ovi that when they were being serious, he had no idea what he wanted to say, but he had to say something didn’t he? They were married now. Ovi ignored him and slid the ring onto the finger of his free hand. 

“We won the cup Nicke.” he said quietly. “We did it together. I want us to be together for the rest of forever, okay?” 

They were both smiling, and Nicky nodded, feeling tears at the corner of his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, I already said yes,” he said, and then Ovi kissed him, even though he was crying again and it was just another kiss, like every other one they’d had over the last two days and the last 11 years. He sniffed a little when they seperated, and Ovi wiped his own eyes, not caring he was crying. “I have to call Liza,” Nicky said, with a laugh, and Ovi kissed his forehead. Nastya was crying a little as well, but she rubbed at her eyes and waved her fork at him. 

“Go home to your wife, Backstrom,” she said, fake sternly. “Your husband will still be here when you get back.”   
  


 


End file.
